Somewhat of a relief not to have to prepare chili. But, sadly, as a bona fide second-year EN, I’m so out of touch that I don’t even know who my kids are rooting for. Just texted both and got these responses:

CJ: I want broncos

GC: Go Seahawks

—

This made me realize that I no longer know the names of their friends, their teachers, their favorite restaurants (or bars!). I don’t know which movies they’ve seen, who their crushes are or what they’re wearing.

The everyday details have vanished. Parenting is now about about advising which airline credit card to apply for.

So…I don’t have a team and I don’t have my team. But this is not going to be one of those introspective, sappy, pathetic Empty Nester posts about tearing up as I walk past their rooms, where their All-Stars jackets still hang in the closets.

I never even cared about the Super Bowl anyway. For eighteen or so years, I just pretended to like it so I could have something in common with my children, the way you pretend to be interested in your boss’s dinner stories. And I do quite like love opera singers, controversial commercials (though NOT Dylan using poetry to peddle Chryslers) and Flea. So bring it on: Let’s kick off this new chapter.